


Sixty Degrees of Separation

by denynothing1



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-08
Updated: 1999-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denynothing1/pseuds/denynothing1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder tends to take the long way round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixty Degrees of Separation

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Between "Triangle" and "Dreamland."

***

He was racing down the long corridor, through intermittent patches of stark light and murky shadow. The institutional lighting, combined with the institutional shade of mustard yellow on the walls, was disorienting -- both familiar and unfamiliar at once. He was running -- not away, but toward something. Something remote, inaccessible, and... longed for. He had the feeling that if sheer strength of will was enough, he could make the object of his search appear. I can make it happen, he thought. I can.... 

Out of the darkness, a door appeared at the end of the corridor. Despite his panic, he almost laughed at the sound of his own voice echoing in his head. I'll take door number three, Monty. His fortune, he thought. His fate.

He pushed open the door so hard it banged against the wall. A woman, sitting behind a desk in the dimly lit office that lay before him, jumped in reaction to his abrupt entry.

"You--" she said, gaping at him.

He felt himself smiling, in recognition and self-congratulation. He had found her. "Scully!"

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, apparently not happy to be found.

"Scully?" he repeated, suddenly feeling foolish. 

She rolled her eyes, then muttered an annoyed "Oh, brother," under her breath. She got up and moved to the back of the office, toward a door he had not noticed before. 

"Scully, no," he said, and then, as she opened the door, "Scully! Scully, don't!"

"Don't what, Mulder?" He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, wake up."

 

As his arm flailed outward and he jerked awake, he heard a thud and a muffled curse. 

"Are you OK, Mulder?" a voice asked, from a distance.

"Yeah." He took in his surroundings -- familiar ones. He was in his apartment. He looked up at the source of the voice. "Scully?"

"Yes, it's me." She watched him warily as he adjusted to a half-sitting, half-slumped position on the couch. She closed the distance between them, and sat gingerly, about a foot away. "I've been here since we got back from the hospital. Do you remember that? Do you remember..."

As if triggered by the sound of the word, memory came back in a flood of images and sounds, action and emotion. The rented boat chugging through the clear Caribbean morning, with him at the helm, feeling queasy and excited at the same time. The sudden shattering, of first the air around him, and then the deck beneath his feet. The oddly peaceful submersion in a warm blue shroud, followed by the frantic kaleidoscope of activity to a big band tempo. And in the center of it all, his anchor, his lifeline. Scully.

He turned to her to reaffirm the connection, then stopped dead at the look on her face. He'd had years of practice decoding the tiny clues she let slip through her various masks. At that moment, through the blaze of a headache that had crept up on him, along with consciousness, he saw worry, puzzlement, and compassion... but not love. 

He turned away and slumped back down. "You can go, Scully."

"Mulder, you just got out of the hospital, and you're recovering from a head injury. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not a holy day of obligation. You don't have to take the day off just to tend to me and rack up grace points."

"Mulder," she said patiently, "if this is about what you said, I'd like to--"

"This is about me having the mother-in-law of all headaches, Scully. I just want to go back to sleep." To dream, he thought -- then wondered why. What had he been dreaming about? It was hovering just beyond memory.

"May we discuss it now?" she asked. 

Asked in the same way she'd say 'May I have my root canal now?', he thought bitterly. Just try to bring up anything personal, and you got the best of Scully in a nutshell. Overly careful, cautious, and restrained. He vowed not to look at her face again while she was still in the apartment. He couldn't bear to see the pallid expression he knew he'd find there, instead of the passionate one that he now knew he wanted.

"You can go, Scully," he repeated, flatly.

"Mulder, stop acting like a child," she snapped back.

Setting the standard for the shortest commitment to a vow on record, he turned to face her. "What?"

"Just because I didn't want to discuss what you said last night, and again this morning, in, of all inappropriate places, a hospital room, where anyone could walk in.... Just because you couldn't make me say, or do, what you wanted, when you wanted, you've decided to run away from the discussion I'd like to have now." 

She was trying to maintain her usual impassive facade, but cracks were beginning to show. He really was a sorry son of a bitch, he thought. Even having her angry with him made him a little happier -- anger was passionate, at least. If they couldn't do the things he'd envisioned them doing on this couch, maybe a rip-roaring argument would satisfy for now. 

"I'm not the one who's been running away, Scully," he sneered, as his opening salvo. Her eyes lit up in response. Oh, yeah, he thought. This is good. 

"Did that bump on your head reinforce your selective memory, Mulder? What were you in the process of doing when you got it, if not running away?" she sneered back.

"Big difference, Scully. I was running toward something. Something interesting and extreme. Something exciting. Something that didn't involve fertilizer."

"Something that didn't involve me?"

"No..." Oh, shit. 

"And now after running out on me, leaving me to cover for you, not to mention rescuing you -- now you're annoyed that I didn't react the way you wanted to the stunning revelation you brought back with you? That I didn't keel over, exclaiming 'Oh, Fox' on the way down to the ground?"

"Jesus, Scully," he protested feebly, suddenly wondering if eliciting her anger was such a good idea after all. 

She launched herself off the couch, and started to walk toward the kitchen. 

He backtracked and threw caution to the wind. "It all involved you, Scully," he called after her. "On that ship, you were the center of it all. The reason I'm still alive, the reason we're all still ali--"

She turned to face him, hands clenched at her sides. "That wasn't me, Mulder. You had a concussion and a subsequent, elaborate hallucination. Whatever that... figment of your imagination said or did, she did it because you were making it happen." She paused, crossed her arms, and looked down. "It wasn't me."

"I didn't tell her what I told you, Scully," he said quietly.

She kept her gaze fixed to the floor. "What would you have had her say if you did, Mulder?" she asked, subdued.

"Well, not 'Oh, Fox.' I'd rather hear 'Oh, brother.' than that," he said, starting to get up. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got closer to her, but her obvious pain was tearing at him. He had the vague idea that comforting her would make him feel better. 

He gasped as the effort of standing increased the pain in his head to a nearly intolerable level. Scully made a quick move around the coffee table and gently pushed him back down on the couch. He was in no shape to offer resistance. She walked back to the kitchen, then returned with a glass of water and a prescription bottle of pills. 

"Take these, Mulder," she said, offering him the glass and two pills. "Then lie back down."

He swallowed, then murmured, "I thought you wanted to finish this, Scully," as he closed his eyes and slumped gratefully back onto the couch. "I guess now I'm just supposed to call you in the morning."

"This is too difficult right now, Mulder" she said. "We'll discuss it another time."

"When?" he rasped, with a last burst of energy. "When you have all your counter arguments in place? When you won't be able to react honestly because you've mapped out a strategy to deal with this latest quirk of old Spooky's?" 

His bitterness was redirected, back where it belonged. Scully wouldn't respond the way he wanted, true, but he realized now just how thoroughly he'd fucked this up. He should have expected it, he should accept it, he should just give in and wallow in it.

"I'm going to work in the kitchen," he heard her say, as if from a far distance -- moving away from him as rapidly as possible, he thought. He didn't blame her.

He heard a click, then the sound of the television. 

"Is American Movie Classics OK, Mulder? Scully asked. "The screaming every five minutes on the SciFi channel makes it hard to concentrate."

"Sure, fine," He mumbled. Whatever.

He drifted, waiting for the pain to subside, so he could start to plan a way out of this latest mess. Eventually, the soft drone from the television resolved itself into a voice. David Niven? Cary Grant? Neither, he thought. 

"What'll it be guv?"

He glanced over at the source of the voice. "Whiskey," he said. "Neat."

 

The jovial bartender, whose working class accent clashed with his formal wear, banged a glass on the bar and poured a finger full of single malt. "Yank, eh?" he said, raising his voice over the music coming from the band behind them. "Oh, to be in the States, now that war is here. How come you ain't hightailed it back home, Yank?"

Mulder blinked, then studied the shot glass. What the hell. He tossed back the contents, then grimaced and wheezed, "Looking for someone."

"Oh? Must be a right proper little dolly bird. Can't imagine why anyone would stick around here elsewise. Unless you want to join the fun -- rub old Adolf's nose in the dirt for 'im." 

Mulder took in the scene reflected in the mirror behind the rather grand bar. Couples were swaying to the sound of an old standard tune he vaguely recognized, the women in long gowns, the men in formal wear. Small tables, scattered around the edge of the room, were each set with an old fashioned telephone and crowned with a well-shaded lamp, perfect for intimate conversation away from the press on the dance floor. A supper club, he realized. It looked familiar... but that ship had sailed hadn't it? 

"I am looking for a woman, as a matter of fact." He raised his voice to carry over the music. "A redhead." Unfortunately, the band chose that moment to finish its tune. His voice carried clearly across the softly applauding crowd. In the mirror he saw several heads turn in his direction, and then -- he saw her, sitting alone at one of the tables. 

She had also turned her head at the sound of his voice and a look of surprise crossed her face. He whirled around on the bar stool. "Well, that was easy," said the bartender. "I was going to wish you happy hunting, but it looks like you've run the little vixen to ground." The woman began pulling on a pair of long white gloves, looking as if she had every intention of bolting.

"Thanks," he said hastily, and reached into his pocket. Surprised, he pulled out a handful of half-crowns, shillings, and pence, then turned to look helplessly at the bartender. 

"Cor, you Yanks," said the bartender, "I could bloody retire on the lot of you, not bothering to learn our simple little system." He picked several coins from Mulder's palm. Mulder shoved the remainder in his pocket, then turned back, only to find the table empty.

"Where did she go?" he asked the bartender. "Did you see her?"

"Here, easy on," replied the bartender, "She just took the express up the apples and pears." At Mulder's panicked look, the bartender sighed and said "The stairs, guv. She just ran up the stairs." 

"Thanks again," he said over his shoulder, heading out the door.

"Don't mention it, Yank," called the bartender, "And thanks for the tip!"

Mulder reached the stairs, then began to fight his way past the constant stream of couples heading down toward the club. Luckily for him, his redheaded quarry was caught in the same jam. By dint of longer legs and poorer manners, he reached her before she got to the upper level. 

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Scully? Scully, it's me."

She shrugged him off, and, without turning, whispered under her breath, "Grab me again, and you'll be singing soprano, buster."

He carefully put his hands at his sides, ready to shield any critical target she might have in mind, then leaned over her shoulder. "Come on, Scully, what's going on here? Why are you running away? Why are you always running away?" He winced at the pathetic note in his voice.

"As I recall, you were the one who ran, buster. You told me a harebrained story, insulted me, then jumped overboard." She leaned back into him to avoid getting trampled by a particularly boisterous party pushing their way past them. 

Mulder blinked. "It's... you?" he said. "But I thought-- I thought the boat..."

She turned to face him, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. She was standing one stair above him, so they were almost eye-to-eye. 

"You thought I went down with the ship? Well that may have been your plan, buster, but I had plans of my own. I had a way off that ship waiting for me, and I lived to fight another day," she said triumphantly. "Can't say the same for those fascist pigs. We don't know exactly what happened, but we do know that nobody in the Fatherland has heard from them again."

"Oh, Scully," he breathed, "Thank God. I thought I had sent you-- sacrificed you..."

"Stop calling me that. And aren't you full of yourself? Do you think things happen just because you want them to? Who do you think you are?" 

Stung, he said, "The guy who saved you and everyone else from those fascists getting their hands on a doomsday weapon? The guy who told you how to get rid of the fascists?" He swallowed hard, then said helplessly, "The guy who kissed you good-bye, thinking he would never see you again?"

She stared at him impassively. "Well, maybe you do have some reason to be full of yourself," she said. "But what's past is past. I have another job to do now, and I don't need you throwing a monkey wrench in it. It would be better if you left, now." Her face softened a bit. "Please?"

She'd turned away from him when a drunken voice behind him said, "Hey, bub, move it up or move it down, but just move it, will ya?"

Mulder closed his eyes briefly, then made a blind grab for her elbow. "Dance with me," he said, surprising himself, "Just one dance, then I'll leave."

She turned back to him, not pulling away from his grip, he noticed. 

"This guy bothering you, lady?" said the voice behind him. "You want I should get rid of him?"

"No," she said over Mulder's shoulder. "I'll handle this." She looked back at Mulder. "One dance," she said, "One."

Is the loneliest number, Mulder thought wistfully, then turned to escort her down the stairs. He stopped abruptly, and found himself looking down into the ice cold eyes of Walter Skinner. 

"Why, Mulder?" said Skinner, reaching up to tug Mulder's shoulder. "Why are you still here?"

 

Mulder shook the hand off his shoulder, then felt himself falling. The strong hand reappeared and stopped him from rolling off the couch.

"What--" he croaked, and realized his throat was parched. "What do you want?"

"Mulder, why are you still here?" demanded a gruff voice. "You were supposed to report for work this morning."

Mulder opened his eyes and regarded his former boss warily. "How did you get in here?" he asked. He half-sat up, which did his pounding head no good at all. "Where's Scully?"

"She gave me her key," said Skinner. "She had to go into work early, and didn't want to wake you. She asked me to check on you when you didn't answer the phone. It's a little easier for me to get away from work these days than it is for her," he added grimly.

Mulder sat up the rest of the way and gulped water from the full glass that was sitting on the coffee table. He grimaced. Lukewarm. Scully must have left it last night. 

"I want to go in to work," said Mulder abruptly, throwing off the blanket that covered him. More evidence of Scully's care.

"It's a little late for that. I'm sure your absence has already been noted," said Skinner. "Besides, you look like hell."

"I want to see Scully," said Mulder. "And I have to check on--" He glanced at Skinner. "Check on something."

"Can't it wait?" asked Skinner.

"No." Mulder headed into the bathroom, trying to remember the latest dream. He peered at his still bruised face in the mirror, and wondered why he was feeling wary of Skinner in a way he hadn't felt for years.

 

***

Mulder pushed open his apartment door, flung his coat on the coat rack and his keys in the general direction of the hall table. As he moved farther into the apartment, he tossed his mail on the coffee table and loosened his tie. He walked over to the fish tank, peered in and noted thankfully that no belly-up evidence of his neglectful tendencies could be observed. He tapped some food into the tank, then headed for the kitchen to feed himself. Unfortunately, nothing in his unusually well stocked refrigerator appealed. Coming back with a glass of water, and a fresh bag of sunflower seeds, he pointed the remote at the television, and was rewarded with a black and white vision of Ingrid Bergman. 

Going through the motions of shaking off his abbreviated day at the Bureau, he thought over time spent sitting at the confining desk, feeling Scully's eyes on his back. Of course, every time he'd turned to look at her, she'd had her eyes glued to her computer monitor, features neutral. 

He should have been collating fertilizer invoices with her, looking for buying patterns. Hell, he should have been checking out the self-proclaimed mole from Area 51, who had made been trying to pin him down for a meeting for the last three weeks. Instead, he had surreptitiously called up the results of the net and bureau data base searches he had done before pursuing the Queen Anne, trying to identify the Scully and Skinner facsimiles he had seen there.

Of course, he acknowledged, that fruitless search hadn't occupied all his time. There were the few rash moments when he'd considered chucking work, grabbing Scully's hand, and pulling her into one of the stairwells. 

He'd tell her that he loved her one more time, then cleverly rebut every rational explanation she could offer as to why that wasn't really true, or why it was a really bad idea at this point in time, or why she had to get back to work. Maybe, he had thought, maybe he'd just been doing too damned much talking. 

And then a vision of Scully, pitching him down the stairs after he tried substituting physical for verbal persuasion, had put an abrupt end to that little reverie. 

He had grimly flipped open the fertilizer inventory and begun a half-hearted attempt to nail down buying patterns, but eventually, his seemingly permanent headache had become too persistent to ignore. 

"Hey, Scully," he'd whispered softly, still drawing more attention in the crowded bullpen than he'd wanted, "I'm gonna take off." 

She had looked at him -- more compassion, dammit -- and said, "Do you want me to drive you home, Mulder?" 

He had been tempted, pride no match for the need to be with her, but had decided that he was in no shape to pursue what he really wanted to pursue with her. "No," he'd replied. "I'll check out a Bureau car -- tell them I have interviews tomorrow, or something." 

Compassion had been chased across her face by wistful sadness. "I'll call you later. Mulder," she'd said. 

He'd been encouraged enough to touch her hand on his way past her desk, the action shielded by his body from the rest of the bullpen. To his surprise, his hand was caught and held in her small, strong grip. 

Staring at her monitor, she'd said, "The doctor gave you that pain medication for a reason, Mulder." Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she'd murmured "Get some rest, OK?" He'd pulled his hand from hers reluctantly, and headed out the door.

He sighed again, then started to sort through his mail, finally pulling the plain brown wrapper off a monthly indulgence. He took a sip of water, stared at the pill bottle on the coffee table, then shook two pills into his hand, and tossed them back. He congratulated himself for adhering to Scully's wishes, even when Scully wasn't there to see it. 

What a changed character he was. Even if Scully couldn't -- or wouldn't -- see that either. 

He glanced back at the television. Watched Humphrey Bogart watch Paul Henreid watch Ingrid Bergman watch Humphrey Bogart. He shook his head, then began to leaf listlessly through the magazine, noting that none of the cheerfully displayed advertisements for plastic surgery was attached to a face expressing anything close to the pure passion of Ingrid Bergman... or the brilliant challenge of Scully.

Just in front of him, a voice sounding distinctly like Walter Skinner's said, "What do you think you're doing with her?"

Curious, he glanced toward the television, and found himself staring back at Skinner, standing one stair below him, blocking the way to a supper club dance floor.

 

The body language of the man before him might have given the impression that he was drunk, but his eyes were hard and clear. He started to speak. "She's with m--"

"She's with him," said the red-haired woman standing beside Mulder. She took Mulder's hand and pulled him down the stairs. "You have someone else to keep track of, don't you?" she said to the other man, tipping her head in the direction of the club. 

Looking in the same direction, Mulder saw a woman dressed in black, sitting at the bar. He couldn't quite see her face, covered as it was by the large swath of black feathers sprouting from her hat. He looked back at the woman grasping his hand, and realized she was exchanging a look with the other man. He recognized it as one Scully had often bestowed on him, in the very early days of their partnership. 

I'll cover your back, it said. Will you trust me?

With a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, he followed her back to the club, sneaking glances over his shoulder at the familiar figure, standing with feet firmly planted, still halfway up the staircase. "What's he doing here?" he hissed, noting that the Skinner lookalike was dressed in black tie. "The last time I saw him, he was a Nazi."

The mystery woman whirled around and settled herself into his arms, as the strains of 'As Time Goes By' wafted across the dance floor. "The last time you saw him, he was doing his job as an undercover intelligence officer," she said, "my military counterpart." She looked around his shoulder, back toward the stairs. "My companion in the lifeboat that got us off the Queen Anne."

He felt a surprisingly strong flare of jealousy at the fond tone that colored her no-nonsense delivery. "So, you let him save you?"

She turned back to face him, staring straight into his eyes. "Maybe he let me save him. Maybe we saved each other."

"You're partners now?" he asked, feeling more alone by the minute. 

"Yes," she said. "And in a way, I'm glad you're here. So I can thank you for that."

"Me?" he said. "What did I do?" Tell me so I don't make the same mistake twice, he thought.

"Do you know what a honey trap is?" she asked.

"A severe test of fortitude for Winnie-the-Pooh?" he answered blankly.

"In intelligence circles, buster. Have you ever heard the term?"

He blinked. "Is that what you were doing?" It pained him to think of Scully -- any version of Scully -- wasting herself in entrapment setups, used merely as bait.

"That's all any of us are allowed to do," she said bitterly. "The men in charge don't have very much imagination when it comes to assigning women who want to do their patriotic duty. In their minds, the best position for a woman is behind a typewriter, or on her back."

"Things will change," he said, softly.

She looked up at him, eyes bright with pride, and what might have been tears. "I'll make sure of that," she said. "I have a little power of my own, now, thanks to my work on that ship. Thanks a bit to you, I guess, and the big lug over there." She pointed with her chin over Mulder's shoulder.

Mulder looked back and saw that her partner had moved down the stairs, and was seated at the bar, one seat down from the woman in black. 

His dance partner looked back at him and asked "What are you doing here, by the way?" 

"I don't know, I... think I was looking for someone." He looked down at her, and then around the club. "And I just ended up here," he said.

"That's a pretty aimless answer for a man who seemed to have such a strong goal back on that ship," she remarked.

"I did have a goal, in the end, a-- someone to get back to," he stammered.

"Someone.... Let me guess. A woman?" The flirtatious smile that accompanied the question rocked him back on his heels. He stopped dancing momentarily. 

His partner looked at him quizzically, then tugged him back into the dance. "Did you get back to her?" she asked.

"Yes, but..." he bit his lip.

"She wasn't as happy to see you as you were to see her?" she guessed.

"No!" he protested. "She was glad -- she even came looking for me."

"Then she must care for you quite a bit," said his dance partner, extricating herself from his arms and turning to clap in the direction of the band as the song ended.

"She cares for me," he said sadly. "Just not... not the way I want her to."

The music started up again. His companion began to move toward the tables, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward him. "One more," he said softly in her ear. "Please?"

She turned slowly, glanced toward the bar, then up at him. "Sure, buster," she said, smiling again. "One more. I guess I owe you after the right cross I planted on you." She reached up and touched his cheek carefully. "How's that doing, by the way?"

He flinched a little at her soft touch, then murmured, "Fine," as they started to dance again, to the tune of 'Someone To Watch Over Me'. He stared down at her. "So what's with you and Skinner?"

"Who?" she said. "Oh, him. His name's not Skinner," she said with a laugh. "And we're... partners."

She should be careful in her business, thought Mulder. She was almost as bad a liar as Scully... his other Scully. Mildly confused, but delighted to have kept any version of Scully in his arms for such an extended period, Mulder decided to enjoy himself for as long as this -- whatever it was -- lasted. 

He gave her his best leer and said "Just partners? Is that all you are to each other?" To his chagrin, her face hardened.

"In case you hadn't noticed, there's a war going on out there and we've got a job to do," she said. 

"Sorry," he said.

"I suppose you think that all I've got in my silly head is catching a man and settling down," she said, in a challenging voice.

"No!" he exclaimed. "No, I've never thought that. My partner is a lot like you, and I wouldn't want to work with anyone else. She's the only one who will-- who can work with me," he added, somewhat forlorn. "She's... amazing."

They danced in strained silence for several measures, until he realized that she had turned her gaze back to him. "So you and this other woman -- your partner? You say she doesn't feel for you what you feel for her. What do you feel for her?" 

It was so hard to look at this bright, beautiful woman, feel her in his arms, and not think of Scully. He took in her vivid hair, the spark in her eyes, her soft mouth, quirked on the brink of a smile he was aching to see again. 

"I love you," he thought. At her startled look, he realized he had said the words out loud. 

"Her, I mean," he said quickly "I love..." he trailed off, helplessly. 

She gazed up into his eyes, silent for a moment, then whistled under her breath. "Did you tell her like that?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, looking down. "She rolled her eyes and got away from me as fast as she could." 

Seeing the pity in his dance partner's eyes, he finished in a rush. "It was something she wasn't expecting, I guess. When I tried to tell her again, she didn't want to hear it." The frustration from that morning after conversation colored his voice. "I don't know why."

She ducked her head to make eye contact with him again. "You'd better start thinking, because you must have done something else that was really stupid, something that kept her from reacting the way you wanted. I'll tell you true, buster, if things were different, and you said it to me that way I'd..." she hesitated and bit her lip.

Intrigued, he asked "You'd what?"

She stopped moving and stood in his arms, then reached up to touch his cheek again. "I would have asked you to kiss me again. And I wouldn't have socked you, after."

The music ended. While the couples around them started to clap, they stood still, gazing at each other. His companion gave a little shake, then slipped from Mulder's arms, took his hand, and led him to one of the side tables.

Mulder flopped down onto one of the small chairs, while his companion stood by hers, one eyebrow raised expectantly. He jumped to his feet, mortified at the hazy memory of having had manners once and pulled her chair out for her. He sat back down, and wondered if part of his problem with Scully was that she thought he took her for granted. His companion gave him an inquiring look. "Sorry, what?" he said.

"Would you like some champagne?" she said. 

"If you want some," he said. 

She rolled her eyes. "You have to signal the waiter, buster. He won't pay any attention to me."

As he sat up and began looking for a waiter, the light at the base of the phone on the table started flashing. His companion picked it up, listened for a moment, then arched another Scully-like eyebrow in his direction. She glanced over at the bar and he followed her gaze toward the back of the woman in black, now holding the bar phone to her ear. His table companion handed the phone to him. "It's for you," she said.

Surprised, he took it. "Mulder," he said, into the phone.

"Fox," said Diana, "How are you?"

"W-What?" he stammered, turning his gaze back toward the bar.

 

He was met by an infommercial for a food dehydrator, blaring from the television. He pointed the plastic rectangle in his hand at the television, and pushed buttons frantically, then realized that his phone wouldn't turn the television off. 

He dropped the phone, scrambled for the remote and yelped at the sudden sharp pain in his head. Once he had the television safely off, he bent over slowly to pick the phone up off the floor. It rang in his hand.

He jumped, managed not to drop it again and said, "Hello?"

"Fox, what just happened?"

"I-- uh, I dropped the phone," he mumbled.

"How are you feeling?" Diana was at her most ingratiating. "I've been worried about you."

"Fine," he said. "I was just...." Dreaming, he realized, though once again, he had no specific memory of the events in the dream. "I was just sleeping."

"Well that's good, I'm sure you need it," said Diana. "Have you eaten yet? Would you like me to come over and fix something for you?"

"No!" he said, wincing at the volume of his own voice. "No, that's okay, Scully, uh-- Scully is coming by later. She'll take care of everything." Liar.

"I'm sure she will," said Diana, patently not buying it.

Annoyed, he got up and took his empty glass back to the kitchen. "I'm really tired, Diana. I'll talk to you later, OK?" he said, knowing he sounded abrupt and really not giving a damn. Scully might not be coming by, but she'd promised to call and he wanted the line free.

"Fine," said Diana, stiffly. "I'll see you at work tomorrow, perhaps."

"I doubt it," he said. "I don't get down to the basement much anymore."

"I really wish you could let bygones be bygones," she said, irritably.

I really wish you would just be gone, thought Mulder, equally irritable. "Well, Diana, thanks for calling, but I gotta go," he said. "I've got tickets for the Ice Capades." 

"Really? Who are you going wi-- Oh. Really, Fox." 

He grinned at the click that sounded in his ear. That was only one of the differences between Scully and Diana, he mused. Scully would simply have told him to try and enjoy himself and to leave his gun at home. He flicked the television back on, settled on the couch, and found his attention caught again by the dehydrator infomercial. Now that they were doing a lot more stakeouts, it might be useful to stock up on provisions.

***

As he entered the Hoover building the next morning, Mulder reflected on the two phone calls he had received the night before. On the surface, Diana's had started out warm and conciliatory, while Scully's had begun in a typically cool and cautious manner. But by the end... As he trudged up three flights of stairs, he heard Scully's voice in his head. 

"How are you feeling, Mulder?" 

"Can you describe the pain?" 

"How many pills have you taken today?" 

"You can take two more tonight. What have you eaten?" 

"Ketchup is not a vegetable, Mulder." 

"Turkey jerky? No, I can't say that I have. Are you sleepy at all?" 

"I don't remember any lullabies." 

"Umm -- reading yesterday's paper and watching television -- I caught the last part of Casablanca." 

"I would have chosen... I don't know, Mulder. Who do you think I would have chosen?"

"OK, I guess I'd have to say she made the right choice in Casablanca -- and the wrong choice in Paris." 

"Because saying... making commitments... a commitment... is a very serious thing. I... I think you should try to get some more sleep, Mulder." 

"No." 

"I'm fine, just sleepy. Are you coming in tomorrow?" 

"Mulder, you don't have to come in just to keep an eye on MacElroy." 

"He is not a mutant soul-sucker sent by Kersh to spy on us, Mulder, he's an accountant." 

"Well, sometimes, I am right." 

"Mulder, besides all the other things I have to think about where you're concerned, I'm now starting to worry that your relationship with reality is becoming estranged." 

"Yes, always. It's practically a full time job." 

"I... Umm -- take care of yourself, Mulder. Call me if... Let me know if the pain gets worse."

"The pain in your head, Mulder."

"Are you still there?"

"Good night, Mulder. I want-- hope you'll... feel better... See you tomorrow."

He smiled to himself and tried to even out the slight puff from his breathing -- he really needed to start running again -- as he opened the door from the stairwell and started down the hallway leading to his new... area. Oh well, at least Scully had a real desk next to his, now.

"Fox!" He heard behind him. He winced. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried. He put his head down and kept walking.

"Fox, please stop, I'd like to speak with you." Now she was right beside him. 

He suppressed a sigh, stopped and turned to look at her. "Diana," he said in a neutral voice.

"I hope you're in a better mood today," she began.

"As opposed to what?" he asked, just to see if she'd swallow her inevitable annoyance for the sake of whatever agenda she was pursuing at the moment.

"I thought you might like to hear about a case we've been working on," she said, her face carefully composed. 

"No, I don't think so," he said. He turned his head at the sound of voices coming down the hall and took in the sight of Scully, in animated conversation. With Skinner.

He heard Diana say, "I thought you'd jump at a chance to discuss an X-File these days," and felt her hand come to rest on his arm.

"Actually, Scully and I are working on something pretty interesting right now," he said absently. As far as he knew, the last time Scully and Skinner had exchanged this many words outside Skinner's office, they had been pointing guns at each other. 

The approaching pair came even with Mulder and Diana just in time for him to hear Scully say, with a smile that made his heart do a little backflip, "...but the coffee at Georgetown General is much worse. You should try it sometime," and Skinner to reply, with a smile that affected Mulder in another way entirely, "I'll have to give it a try."

Scully and Skinner slowed to a halt, and the four of them formed an uneasy rectangle on the linoleum.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Fowley," said Skinner.

"Director Skinner, Agent Scully," said Diana.

"Agent Smart, Agent 99," said Mulder, under his breath.

"Mulder," said Scully, under hers.

Skinner cleared his throat, then said, "How are you feeling, Agent Mulder?"

"Still damp enough to grow mushrooms," replied Mulder. "Thanks for asking, sir."

"I thought you were in a minor traffic accident," Diana said suspiciously. "Was it near some water?"

"According to Scully, only in my mind," said Mulder, not able to figure out how to shake off Diana's hand without drawing too much attention.

Diana shot Mulder a perplexed look, then turned to Scully. "Fox was just telling me that you and he have found something very intriguing to work on since moving up out of the basement."

"He did? Scully's blank look was rapidly replaced by one that only Mulder knew well enough to interpret as a glare. Particularly since it was directed at him. "Did he?" she asked again.

"Yeah, you know," said Mulder, finally breaking contact with Diana by leaning down and speaking near Scully's ear, "the anomaly in accounting."

"Oh," said Diana, brightening, "a fraud case? How... thrilling."

"You have no idea," said Scully. "Let's get to it, shall we, Mulder?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Mulder said, only to receive the glare again.

"Perhaps we can take a rain check, Fox." Diana spoke loudly over Scully's "It's been nice talking with you again, Sir," to Skinner.

Mulder said "Sir," to Skinner, and "Yeah, sure," to Diana, then turned to overtake Scully, who was halfway down the hallway after bidding Skinner a warm good-bye and Diana nothing at all.

Reaching her side, he said, "Morning, Scully. Alone at last," hoping to get one of those smiles she seemed to be throwing out freely this morning. 

"Mulder," she said.

S.O.L. there, pal, he thought. "Umm -- I'm feeling much better, " he volunteered.

"Good for you, Mulder," she said, entering the bullpen and moving toward her desk.

"So you and Skinner will probably have to postpone that date at the Georgetown General cafeteria. Just thought I'd warn you," he said.

"Why, that's considerate of you, Mulder." Scully turned on her computer, deposited her briefcase in her bottom desk drawer and closed it with a controlled shove.

"I guess that rumor about you being up for FBI Humanitarian of the Year is true, then. You can stop lobbying now. I'm sure Agent Fowley has already cast her vote." 

If he'd been capable of the expression, he would have gaped at her. "You hear some nasty rumors Scully," he said.

"Agent Scully," said a timid voice behind him. He turned and came face-to-face with a bow tie, then looked up into a bashfully eager face. 

"MacElroy," said Mulder.

"Oh," said MacElroy, looking down as if seeing Mulder for the first time. "Good morning, Agent Mulder." Looking over Mulder's head, he continued, "How are you this morning, Agent Scully?"

Scully looked up -- way up -- and delivered the second smile of the morning that missed Mulder by a mile. "Very well, thank you, Harvey," she said. "Have you finished with the invoices?"

"Yes," said MacElroy, beaming. "I thought you might like to see something interesting."

"What could it possibly be?" said Mulder, voice full of wonder. He got the glare that seemed to be on special today, just for him, from Scully.

"I'll be right there," said Scully, and waited for the other man to smile happily and walk back to his own desk before saying, "I know how much this sort of thing bores you, Mulder. I'll take care of it."

"You're too good to me, Scully," said Mulder. "Now if only I could figure out a way to get you to go to the dentist for me and write birthday cards to my Aunt Mabel. You know, the rich one."

"You still don't get it, do you, Mulder?" said Scully, as she selected several folders from the file organizer on her desk. She moved around her desk and stopped in front of him. "You'll never get me to cover for you, to make excuses for you, or to save your ass -- unless I want to. Lucky for you..."

Mulder's heart almost stopped. The smile that had kept missing him all morning hit him full in the face. 

"Lucky for you," Scully continued, as she brushed past him, "I want to." 

Mulder dropped into his chair and reached up to touch his bruised cheekbone, suddenly throbbing with heat. He reached into his pocket for the bottle of painkillers. When he strolled over to the water cooler in the corner, he rediscovered, to his dismay, what he and Scully had been missing all those years cloistered in the basement: extreme and unseemly interest in their every move, poorly disguised as camaraderie. He carefully avoided the gazes that tried to engage his and mumbled a general, "Morning," in response to the ragged chorus of "Mulder"s that met him at the water cooler. He tipped his head back to wash down the pills, and fought the sudden tilt of the ground under his feet. 

Back at his desk, while checking if Frohike had gotten any more information on the SS squadron assigned to board the Queen Anne, he was met with a message from his Area 51 contact. He sighed and considered whether he could get Scully to go with him.... He winced. Bad choice of words.

But if she wanted to.... He drifted into a reverie in which he and Scully discovered, to their mutual delight, that they each wanted the same thing at the same time. 

He grimaced as he heard furtive whispering behind him. Didn't these people have some investigating to do? The whispering increased in volume. He turned irritably and started at the sight of Scully, seated at her desk. When had she gone past him? 

His eyes shifted to the indistinct figure of a man, leaning over her and pointing out something in the papers Scully was holding. Jesus, MacElroy, he thought, are you that desperate? He brushed away the memory of the many times he had manufactured an excuse to lean over, across, or closer to Scully.

Scully was biting her lip and both Mulder and the other man became transfixed at the sight. Taking unfair advantage of his nearness, the man behind Scully reached around her and placed his hand on her cheek. She stopped talking and looked up at him. He tipped her head further and kissed her gently.

"Hey!" Said Mulder.

Startled, the couple jumped apart. 

Scully looked embarrassed. Skinner looked furious.

 

"What's going on?" demanded Mulder.

"What business is that of yours?" said Skinner, his voice belligerent.

Mulder moved toward Scully's desk. "She's mine," he growled, startled at the venom in his own voice. "She's my partner. She's my best friend. She's my--" He halted in his tracks at the sight of Scully standing up and moving in front of Skinner, as if to shield him from Mulder's approach. 

"I am not yours," she said. "I'm not his either." 

Mulder noted with satisfaction the disappointment that flickered across Skinner's face. He looked back at Scully, who had moved around the desk and was approaching him. He took an involuntary step backward. "Scully," he said, "I can't believe you--"

"I am not Scully," she interrupted. "And if this is the way you treat her, I'm not surprised that she's not yours, either." She halted in front of him. 

"How do you know...." He looked around, and realized that he was back in the shadowy office he had stumbled into before, the one where he thought he had found -- and lost -- Scully. 

"You've been making some pretty big assumptions, buster," said this dream version of Scully. "Back on the ship, when you thought you could make me do what you wanted, even though it was suicide. Last night in the club, when you tried to sweet talk me into falling for you. Well they both almost worked. You're a persuasive sort of guy." 

Marching back to the other man, she took one of his hands, relaxing it from the fist it had been clenched in ever since Mulder had appeared. "But I'm through with having others choose how my life goes. I choose what I want to do, like I chose to believe you on that ship. And like I chose him." 

Though Mulder knew instinctively that this was not the Scully and Skinner he knew, he still felt a flash of jealousy at the intimate look they exchanged following the woman's last declaration. "You're a lucky man," he said bitterly to the man before him.

"What makes you think it was luck?" said the Skinner lookalike. Do you know how long I've waited for her? Do you know how rare it is to find a woman like this?"

Better than you know, thought Mulder bitterly. "So how'd you do it? Tell me your secret," he said, only half-joking. 

"Well, I tried being reserved and respectful. I tried being protective. I tried flirtation, innuendo, and charm." 

Now I know I'm dreaming, thought Mulder. 

"In the end, I had to stop forcing the issue -- trying so hard to make it happen. I tried loving her, just loving her, and not pushing her. Trusting her to make the right choice," the lucky man continued. "It wasn't the easiest plan -- but it seems to have worked," he finished in wonder, looking down at his red haired companion, who smiled at him, then turned back to Mulder.

"All that aside," she said, the business-like tone belying the glow on her face, "we still have a job to do. One for which a man of your persuasive abilities would be perfect. Will you help us?"

Mulder was eager to find a way back to his version of Scully. "I don't think I..." he began, then was struck dumb as a large white rabbit wearing a bow tie walked through the back door of the office.

"Did you ask him?" said the rabbit to the couple standing before Mulder. "What did he say?" 

The rabbit placed a large paw on Mulder's shoulder. 

"Agent Mulder? Agent Mulder," said MacElroy. "You have to help us."

 

Mulder jumped up as he came back to consciousness, then watched in bemusement as Agent MacElroy jumped much higher. 

"If you could shoot, MacElroy," he said "I'd call up Van Gundy, take my ten percent, and retire."

MacElroy sent him a puzzled look. "I may do mainly paperwork, Agent Mulder, but I still maintain an excellent firearms proficiency rating."

"Uhh--" Mulder shook his head, then winced at the pain that bounded across his skull. "Where's Scully?"

MacElroy brightened. "She's at my desk," he said. "She asked me to come get you. She needs clarification of some notes you made in Buhl."

"I made some notes?" said Mulder. "Oh, yeah, Buhl. That's where we made the Elvis sighting."

"Elvis is dead, Agent Mulder," said MacElroy disapprovingly, as they began to walk across the bullpen. 

"Oh? Then why was he ordering so much fertilizer?" said Mulder. 

"You-- He--" sputtered MacElroy behind him. "Agent Scully didn't mention that."

"Agent Scully," said Mulder, turning to face MacElroy, "exercises extreme discretion when it comes to matters of National Security. You should know that." His mouth curved in an almost imperceptible smile. 

Leaving the other man standing in confusion, he turned and made a beeline for Scully. He grabbed the chair next hers, the one that MacElroy had obviously set up for himself. 

Mulder let his smile develop a bit, to the beatific stage. He directed it first at MacElroy, forced to pull a chair over from the next desk and sit across from them, then at Scully. 

She arched an eyebrow at him but made no comment on the new seating arrangements. As she leaned toward him to show him some figures on the papers she had spread before them, Mulder turned his head so that his cheek just brushed her hair. A faint glimmer of memory told him that he had usurped this place from someone other than MacElroy, but he couldn't for the life of him remember who that might be. 

This was fun, he thought. Sitting next to Scully, even if they did have to review invoices and purchase orders while chaperoned by MacElroy, would definitely save the day from being a total loss. There was something he had to tell her, he thought. 

No, that wasn't right. There was something he had to let her tell him. He felt a tremor of anticipation at the thought of what that might be. Ah well, it would come to him. He would make it happen.

***

Mulder held open the door to the parking garage for Scully, then fell into step beside her as they headed toward her car. "Hey, Scully, how about grabbing some dinner?" he said.

"You have all that food in your refrigerator, Mulder," Scully said.

"OK," he said agreeably. "Let's eat that." 

"Umm... Actually, I'm tired," she said. "I've been getting up very early the last few weeks, and I tend to crash a lot earlier in the evening."

"That breakfast shift must be hell, Scully. I told you I'd loan you the money to pay off the fine." he said.

"And I told you, I don't need your money, Mulder. I've just been working on... something. A special project," she said.

"Ooh, home crafts. Nobody's ever knitted me a sweater before."

She dipped her head and said, "I'll have to have you over for a fitting soon."

Oh, Scully, he thought, with a small private smile, sometimes you make this just too easy. Just as well, since you make everything else so difficult. 

"My time is yours," he said. "I'd like nothing better than to stand still while you take my measurements." 

As expected, he got no reaction. He was still intrigued by what might be keeping her occupied, but for some reason, didn't feel like pushing her further. 

"Have a good evening, Mulder," Scully said, as she unlocked her car. "Try to get some more rest. You need it to heal."

He leaned into the car after she'd gotten in. "I think I need to take a rest from resting, Scully. After the last two days of resting, I feel as if I need a vacation."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she said. "After we get the X-Files back--"

"What makes you so sure we'll get them back?" he asked. He moved back as she shut the car door. 

She rolled down the window. "I'm sure because I know you, Mulder. You're the most determined man I've ever met. You'll never give up trying to get what you want."

He watched her drive out of sight. No, he thought, as he turned to trudge back to his own car, I never will.

***

Mulder spent his solitary evening productively -- a run, a shower, some laundry. It's no life, but it's my life, he thought, as he flipped on the television, and wandered into the kitchen. He was hungrier than he'd been in days, though the edge was dulled a bit by the idea of eating alone. He stopped stock still with the refrigerator door open. He'd lived alone for years. He'd eaten hundreds of solitary meals. Those facts had never been worth even a passing thought... till now. 

He wandered back to the living room with a microwaved plate of lasagna in one hand and a beer in the other. He stared at the television, trying to place the wicked looking brunette before him. Joan Crawford? He took a huge bite of lasagna and chugged a third of the beer while eying the bottle of pills. His headache was better, and he wasn't supposed to take those with alcohol, anyway. Pass.

He moved his late night supper to the desk, booted up his computer and accessed his work files. He wasted three hours on a methodical review of information he'd gleaned on Area 51's purported personnel hierarchy and use of reverse engineered technology. 

Finally finished, he stretched, reached for his beer and smiled sardonically at his reflection in the dark window behind the desk. These pathetic attempts to make believe he was still investigating X-Files... well, whatever gets you through the night, Spooky, he thought. Or at least, whatever was available. He shook his head at the bottlenecks he seemed to be stuck in on all fronts lately. 

"What can I do?" he said aloud.

"You can start by buying me a drink, darling," purred a voice behind him.

 

He tensed and looked up. Diana was standing behind him, reflected in the elegant mirror behind the bar. He almost dropped the tall beer glass he was holding.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you again, darling. It's been such a long time." She leaned intimately on the man whose arm she was holding. "And now my new friend here tells me you might have something interesting for me." Mulder's eyes shifted to his left and took in an uncomfortable looking Walter Skinner. 

"Actually, my friend and I were just about to dance," said a voice to his right. He turned his head and his gaze settled on Scully... No. Not Scully, he thought. I've been here before and this is not Scully and that's not really Skinner and I hope to God that's not Diana, because I just don't want to deal with her right now and how come nobody's noticed that there's a six and a half foot tall rabbit in a bow tie nursing a ginger ale at the end of the bar? And by the way, just who the hell am I supposed to be?

Diana, looking disappointed, said, "Save the next one for me, then, will you, Fox?"

Mulder's shoulders slumped as he slid off his bar stool. It's my dream, he thought. Why can't I be Mike, or Dirk, or Roger, just for once? He took his second favorite redhead's hand and let her lead him to the dance floor. "OK, what's going on?" he hissed, as they started to dance.

"I thought you'd never get here," said his dance partner. "Do you remember what you're supposed to do?"

He gave her his best blank look.

She rolled her eyes. "At the moment, that woman is working for Goering. Things are heating up and we think she's looking for fresh contacts. We'd like to control the information she'll be sending to the Fatherland. Don't you remember this?"

"I'm supposed to... set a honey trap?" He asked distastefully.

"What's sauce for the goose, Moose," she said blithely.

He sighed. "Apparently, it's Mulder," he said. "Fox Mulder."

"That's right, buster, you're the man she wanted to see, and you're the man we got for her," she said. "She thinks you're an American intelligence officer ready to be compromised -- she worked with you once before right? Only then you thought you were on the same side."

"We weren't?" he said.

"Her loyalties are... flexible, to say the least," she said. "Didn't you ever figure that out? We think you can make her believe anything, do anything you want, just by flashing those baby uh-- greens at her and talking sweet." 

Mulder had an unsettled moment of reflection on his past with Diana -- the Diana he knew -- and begged to differ. "She didn't-- doesn't always do what I want her to do," he protested.

"How hard have you ever tried to change her mind, buster? Did you put your heart into it?" 

No, he thought, surprised at the realization. Not then, when his heart had been so empty. Not now, when it was carrying a big, neon 'no vacancy' sign. He shook his head. 

"So, go ahead," she said. "Make an effort. I bet she'd do anything you wanted her to do." 

His head was whirling. He contemplated the woman before him, and said softly, "I bet you're not like that."

She looked at him sharply. "What makes you say that?"

"You remind me of someone, remember?" he said "And her loyalties are... inflexible, to say the least. She believes what she believes and no amount of sweet talk would ever make her change her mind. No one can make her do, or say, or feel, anything she doesn't want to. And that includes me," he added mournfully.

"A real pain, huh?" said the woman. "Good thing you're here with her instead," she smiled, indicating the woman in black, lounging at the bar.

"No!" said Mulder, "No I-- I need Scully to tell me the truth. It's the reason I trust her. She'd never tell me anything just because I wanted to hear it, or because I pushed her into saying it..." He stopped, dumbfounded, and looked down at this dream version of Scully. 

"Good for you, buster," she said, smiling softly. "You finally figured it out."

"I wish she could see you," he said, "I wish she could see that even the Scully in my dreams has a mind of her own." 

"Why don't you tell her that? I bet she'd like to know."

"I will," he said, starting to feel an unaccustomed joy bubble up. He was grinning now, bending his partner back in an extravagant dip. "I will."

"That's great, buster. But first, here comes your chance to make a contribution to the war effort." 

Mulder felt a tap on his shoulder, and a sultry voice say, "May we cut in?" 

He stood the redhead up gently, and touched her cheek. "Thank you," he said.

"Darling, isn't the next dance for me?" said the other woman, impatiently.

"No," he said, shaking his head and backing away, "no, no, but..." He looked at the crowd on the dance floor. "But here's someone who said he'd jump at the chance to dance with you. You should see him fox-trot." 

He grabbed the paw of the tall white rabbit in the bow tie, who had been hovering at the edge of the crowd. He thrust the rabbit at Diana, and ignored her muffled cries of "Fox! Fox, I'll get you for this," as the strangely well matched couple shuffled off to the strains of 'Chattanooga Choo-choo.'

He felt a hand on his arm. "Hey," said a gruff voice next to his ear, "what about our plan?"

"It's OK," he hissed to the Skinner lookalike, "you've got her." He placed his hands on the man's broad shoulders and pointed him to face the redhead. "What else do you need to win a war?" 

Eager to reach his own secret weapon, he turned and hastened to the exit, dodging whirling, hopping, swinging couples.

Jeez, he thought, looking down at the dance floor. What a stupid place to put a coffee table.

 

Mulder rolled over on the floor of his apartment, trying to simultaneously hold his aching left knee and his sore right elbow. He gave up and lay flat back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Memories of dreams from the past two days came flooding back. He glanced at his watch. Nearly five o'clock in the morning. 

Scully, he thought. I have to find Scully. 

***

An hour and a half later, Mulder trudged into the Hoover Building. Scully was nowhere to be found. Not picking up the phone at her apartment because she wasn't in her apartment. Cell phone turned off. He'd never realized home crafts took such privacy and concentration. 

"Morning, Agent Mulder. This is just like old times," said a voice behind him.

Turning, he grinned at a familiar face. "Ruck, how've you been?"

"Not bad, not bad," said the security guard. "So, I see you and Agent Scully are really up to something these days, aren't you?"

"Uh, no, we're uh... just good, uh..." He trailed off in embarrassed silence.

"Don't worry, Agent Mulder. Whatever little project you've got going on the side, you can count on me to be discreet." Ruck treated Mulder to an exaggerated wink.

"Uh... Thanks," said Mulder weakly.

"So, it's about time you showed up," said Ruck. "Why you let a fine lady like that do so much work alone is beyond me." 

"She's here?" said Mulder.

"Up in the lab. Just waiting for you, I'd say," said Ruck. "Course, that's just between you and me," he called after Mulder, who was already on the move.

As Mulder exited the stairwell, he frowned at the sight of a soft light coming from the laboratory at the end of the dark hallway. 

He stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of Scully standing at a lab bench, poring over a light box. _Really_ got to start running more, he thought. Two flights of stairs shouldn't make his heart race like that. 

"Hey, Scully," he said.

She jumped and turned off the light box. "Mulder? What are you doing here?"

He began moving toward her, mostly by feel. "I guess I should have guessed jigsaw puzzles instead of knitting," he said. He reached over to turn the light box back on. It flickered, then cast a fluorescent glow upward, highlighting the determined look on Scully's face.

"I have just as much right to do this as you do, Mulder," she said as she began to gather the charred fragments wrapped in plastic. "Maybe more."

He felt an ache starting to build at the back of his throat. "Okay, Scully," he said. "But don't you think it would have been easier to do this together?"

"When were we supposed to do that, Mulder?" she asked. "Even when you're here lately, you're not really here." 

He choked out a soft laugh. "You think I've been spending too much time in dreamland? You might be amazed at what you can learn there."

She sighed. "Like what, Mulder? How to get the X-Files back? How to make Kersh disappear?" She bit her lip. "How to make me say 'I love you too, Mulder, and everything's going to be all right', when I'm not sure anything is ever going to be all right ever again?

The ache came back full-force. "Actually," he said, "what I figured out was that I can't make you do or say anything that you don't want to do."

"Was that a revelation, Mulder?" she said bitterly. "If it took you this long, then you really haven't been paying attention."

He sat on the corner of the desk next to the bench so he could talk to her face-to-face. At least, they would be face-to-face, he thought ruefully, if she would ever stop scrutinizing the floor. 

"What came as a revelation..." he started, then reached to take her hand, "Scully, please look at me."

She resisted a little as he tried to pull her closer, then finally took a step forward, raised her head, and treated him to a level gaze. 

He fought a moment of panic, then gathered himself. "Scully, I've been dreaming a lot lately." He stopped as she made a little huffing noise. "May I continue?" he said.

She nodded, having the grace to look ashamed.

"I've had trouble remembering the dreams until this morning, I think because of the pain pills." 

"That's not a common side effect, Mulder," she said, frowning. 

It's also not important," he said. "The important thing is what was in the dreams. I don't know if they were an escape from the reality we've gotten ourselves stuck in these days, or a mechanism for figuring out something that's been bothering me. You yourself said that's probably what I was doing on the Roche case." 

She arched an eyebrow.

"Anyway," he said hastily, "you said that I was caught up in a situation I was manipulating the first time I said... I loved you -- that I was responding to a figment of my own imagination, that it wasn't you. But Scully, the woman I imagined was just as stubborn and independent and intelligent as you. Hell, she even socked me after I kissed her. Now, why would I say I loved you if that wasn't what I wanted? I mean," he continued hastily, "the independent and intelligent part, not the socking." 

"You kissed her?" she said.

"I thought I would never see her again," he said, defensively, then started to smile. "I would have done the same for you, Scully." 

She bit her lip, as if considering conceding the debate. Well, he had been pretty eloquent, he thought. His self-congratulation lasted all the way to the end of her next statement.

"Mulder... you have to realize... I've had a front row seat for the last six years, watching as you manipulate everyone around you. Contacts and witnesses. Even Skinner. But mostly... mostly me."

"When did I...." He trailed off, not really wanting to know.

"You know all the buttons to push with me, Mulder. You challenge my mind and my heart. You make me laugh, you make me angry and sad and--"

"That's not manipulation, Scully," he protested, "that's human."

"Mulder, I would agree with that, if I didn't think it was all a game to you. Half the time, I think you say things just to see the effect you know they'll have on me. I think you take pleasure in doing it."

Mulder swallowed hard. "Is that what you thought was going on in that hospital room?" he asked. "Cause if you did, Scully, you don't get it at all. I love you. I needed you to know that. That's all."

She continued to hold his gaze and her silence, until he felt the restless urge to pace, or to pull her into his arms and make her believe... No, no, he thought, don't do it. He dropped her hand and stood abruptly, moving away from temptation.

"Mulder, wait," she said, grasping his forearm. 

He gasped and pulled away from her, holding his arm with a wince.

"What's wrong?" she asked, moving toward him.

"Nothing, I don't know," he babbled.

She took his hand and led him back to the desk. "Mulder, sit down and take off your jacket," she said.

The obvious 'I thought you'd never ask, Scully' sprang to his lips and stayed there. He made an instant resolution to stop being obvious. He shrugged off his jacket and watched as she unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve.

"What on earth have you been doing?" she asked, taking in the fresh gash on his arm.

"Dreaming?" he said.

"Honestly, Mulder, you're the only person I know whose dreams should carry a health insurance premium." She shook her head as she opened her briefcase. 

He sat still while she did doctor things with antiseptic swabs and a bandage, concentrating silently on her work. 

She wasn't going to respond to this latest declaration either, he thought, sadly. Their quota of personal revelations must be filled for the week. Oh well, not bad, considering how low their revelations per conversation per week ratio usually stood. 

Scully watched impassively as he rolled down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. Then she sighed and took his hand, making his heart jump erratically. Hold on, he thought. Maybe we're going to improve that ratio. 

"Mulder, what you said before, that you just needed me to know -- it scares the hell out of me but I... I am glad you said it. But I... there's just too much, right now, too much...." She closed her eyes in pain and dismissal, gesturing blindly to the light box behind him.

Drop it now, he thought. Get up and walk out. Just don't do this to her anymore. He made a tentative move to do that and was halted by her strong grip on his hand. He rocked back as she lifted her face to him, her expression filled with neither worry, nor compassion, nor puzzlement, but, just possibly, with love.

"It's okay, Scully," he said, surprised that at the moment, it was true. "I needed to tell you. I told you. I'm glad you know." He returned the pressure of her hand with his own. "You can deal with it or not, just please, keep trying to deal with me, no matter what stupid thing I say or do. Please?"

She nodded, a small sign of assent. They stood, locked in a silence filled with the hums and buzzes of laboratory equipment. Mulder couldn't be sure, but thought he spotted a fresh shimmer in Scully's eyes, fixed on his third favorite tie.

"Hey Scully," he said, mildly panicked and looking to distract her, "if I kissed you, would you sock me?"

She looked up, let out a small ripple laughter and said, "You must think I would, Mulder, Or else you wouldn't have dreamed it that way."

Encouraged, he said "Maybe I was wrong about that part, Scully. 

"I don't really have to say 'In your dreams', do I, Mulder?" she said, mild and collected expression settling back into place.

"Hey, Scully," he said softly. He turned her hand in both his own and rubbed it softly, "I've got this contact in Dreamland--" He smiled as she gave him a sharp look. "No, wait, it's a real place, a name for Area 51, where they test experimental aircraft. This guy wants to give me some information."

"Mulder, if you take off again, Kersh'll have me serving lunch in the Bureau cafeteria by next week."

"Listen," he said, standing up, "it sounds like a pretty legitimate lead on some pretty interesting stuff--" 

"Ditching me so soon, Mulder?"

"No, no, I--" He almost yelped as she reached up to place her free hand on the back of his neck and pull his head down level with hers.

"I don't know, you seem determined to go," she said softly.

"Yeah," he said, a little nervously, watching a very slight smile transform her face.

"So," she said, moving closer, "in case I never see you again..."

He gulped and closed his eyes as she brushed a soft kiss across his bruised cheek. "Sc- Scully..." he faltered, as all rational thought fled. She trailed a series of little kisses down his cheek, then finally, Finally! settled on his mouth, kissing... one, two, three, four, soft, slow kisses, that made his knees buckle. He sat back down abruptly on the conveniently placed desk, pulling her close. He felt a laugh bubble up from deep inside, carried on a wellspring of joy he was pretty damned sure he'd never felt before... except, maybe, in his dreams.

"What?" said Scully, pulling back, looking ruffled.

"Good thing the desk was here." 

Her mouth quirked and he pulled her even closer, stopping only when her cheek was brushing his. He closed his eyes and was enveloped in her soft scent. He could feel her, hear the sound of her breathing, a mostly regular rhythm, with the occasional hitch and sigh when his cautious hands found a new spot to caress. If he turned his head about three millimeters, he thought, he could taste her again.

"Mulder," she said, "this isn't safe. The security guard--"

"If you wanted safe, you wouldn't have stuck with me for six years, Scully," he said. "Face it, you're a danger junkie." 

You couldn't let it be, could you, genius, he thought, opening his eyes as she pulled back to the limit of his embrace. 

"So, you really do think you can tell me what I think and how I feel," she said, in a challenging tone.

"Scully, I can't even make you swoon over me in my own dreams," he protested.

She relaxed and moved forward, just enough so that he could reassure himself that she wasn't going to bolt. She cocked her head and said "OK, so you don't expect an answer, you're not going to force an answer and you're not saying it because you think you can make me answer... But you're going to persist with this telling-me-you-love-me kick you're on?" 

"Scully..." Now he was the one with his gaze fixed on the floor. "In the last few years, I've found out what it's like to almost lose you and what it's like to love you. I think the telling-you-I-love-you kick is here to stay. Even though I have a feeling I'm going to work harder at proving it than at anything I've ever done in my life. "

She ducked and caught his eye, then lifted her head, pulling his gaze with her. "I have faith that you can do it, Mulder," she said, starting to smile again. "I have faith in you." 

Well, he mused, no 'I love you too, Mulder', but hell, four kisses (five, if he counted the first one on the cheek) and an 'I have faith in you, Mulder', and he had enough excess energy coursing through him to light up the whole damned Hoover building. 

He jumped as the overhead lights crackled on. 

"It's just Ruck, hitting the main switches down the hall," Scully said, from three feet away. 

He looked at her, across the distance she had automatically put between them. "Come on, Scully," he said, voice low and urgent. "If I'm going to a place called Dreamland, I have a feeling I'm going to need you with me."

She gave him a long, considering look. Then, to his delight, she snapped off the light box, gathered up her coat and briefcase, and said, "Let's go, Mulder."

He glanced down as the exited the laboratory. "First aid kit?" he said.

"Check."

"Letter to Kersh from your mother, regarding that unavoidable family emergency?"

"I'll fax it."

"Turkey jerky?"

"You can't expect me to think of everything, Mulder."

As they walked side by side down the hall, she said, "Mulder... you realize this could be the end of a beautiful friendship."

"I think we can chance it, Scully," he said. 

And anyway, he thought to himself, what a way to go.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks: To Amy S, for her eagle eyed catches of embarrassing errors and awkward phrasing and to Paula Graves, for wonderful constructive commentary.


End file.
